


And

by Karolina98



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Aliens mentioned, BAMF Karen Page, Canon-Typical Violence, Frank appreciates badass women, He also gets beat up a lot, Language, Multi, No one can be a vigilante entirely on their own, Post Season 2, Slow Burn, There will be a dog, They have a tendency to make his life more complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7477584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karolina98/pseuds/Karolina98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Castle is The Punisher. He's made of pain and rage and revenge. And Karen Page. And coffee. And a dog. And some very annoying empathy. And Karen Page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead man

**Author's Note:**

> This is running away from me.

There had been a time when Frank had been one hundred percent sure there was nothing left in his life except pain and rage and revenge. Then Karen Page walked into his hospital room and there had been pain and rage and revenge and Karen. Then he had shot his former CO (pain and rage and revenge and betrayal, holy fuck man, betrayal) and Karen told him to go to hell and that was exactly how it should be. He was not a person, he was The Punisher, Frank Castle was dead.

Karen Page was not dead however and he found himself… lurking. That was not his term for it, but in hindsight.. The woman had a terrible gift for poking at hornets’ nests with sticks and frequently needed protection. He didn't make himself know, Karen had been very clear about her feelings. He was dead to her. But she was not dead to him and he would make damn well sure she wouldn't end up dead altogether. He wasn't stalking her. He was just looking out for the one person who had been kind to him in a long time. 

Following Karen around, he discovered some sort of human experimentation lab and, after neutralizing the bastards doing the experimenting, he realized one of the subject was still alive. She couldn’t be more than 16 and weakly begged him not to take her to the hospital. He understood how someone who had just been experimented half to death by doctors, didn’t feel like going back. (rage and pain and revenge and… empathy?). Also he couldn't exactly walk into a hospital himself. Andd who knew how many 'doctors' were involved in this shit. 

The girl, Leah, recuperated on the bedroll on the floor of his lair (also not his term) and made herself right at home. She even convinced him to keep the dog. As she regained weight and health, Frank amended his age estimation. And realized maybe the lab hadn’t been into human experimentation after all. Aliens were a thing right? She didn’t look anything like what had fallen from the skies a few years ago, but yeah. Probably not human. But she made good coffee. And cooked. And could wash blood out of anything. Frank wasn’t sure how to tell her to get lost. He wouldn’t admit he liked her being around under torture. (revenge, rage and pain and Karen (annoyed by, protect) and Leah (friend????))

 

 -------------------------------------------------------

 

Currently, Frank was experiencing pain. Pain. PAIN. All over, with extra throbbing, burning pain around his left side of his ribcage, left side of his face and left knee. Frank wrenched his eyes open. Good, familiar ceiling. He was in his own bed (Leah’s bed).

 “L-lee..” Shit. His voice was fucked up. Someone moved in the corner of his left field of vision, but he couldn’t move to see (fuck fuck shit). When the person moved into his line of sight, it was not Karen (the fuck it’d be Karen?) or Leah. It was young woman, black, unfamiliar. She wore scrubs and he didn’t know her (hospital?! No, familiar ceiling).

 “Wh-.” Shit this was hard. “oo r u?” He managed to rasp out.

 “Claire.” She must have understood him. “I’m a nurse. I take my Hippocratic oath seriously and as long as you’re injured I don’t care who you are.” It took him a moment to process that. And why that mattered. “Your friend, Leah, told me to tell you that.” The nurse told him.

 “Huh.” His head was fuzzy. Something was off. He should be worried about something. “wh’appn?” Talking should not be this hard.

 “You tell me, buddy.” The nurse (the hell was she again?) said. “Looks like you fell off a great height. Maybe got hit by a truck or something.” Truck. Something off. Be worried. Something wrong. Truck. Pain. (and rage and revenge and Karen and -)

 “KArn!” Shit. Bad people and guns and Karen getting in trouble. Fuck. Karen!

 “Yeah, you mentioned her. A lot. Like, way too much for a guy in your condition.” There was something in the nurse’s eyes, couldn’t for the life of him figure out what. “Your friend Leah went to check on her.”

 “Hm.” (what could Leah do against those fuckers?!) and Frank passed out again.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

 

Frank woke up feeling like shit. He was pretty sure he’d felt better when he’d woken up in the hospital after the fucking Devil of Hells Kitchen (the fuck kind of name was that?) beat him to a pulp and got him arrested. He wasn’t entirely sure what happened, but he must have made his way home (Home. Bullshit.) and Leah must’ve patched him up. She was good at that, gentle and thorough and no fainting. Except the woman dozing in the chair, was not Leah.

 “The Hell are you?” He grunted out. Why was there a strange nurse in his lie-low hide out? He didn’t feel so bad that Leah would’ve needed outside help.

 “Claire. I’m a nurse. I take my Hippocratic oath seriously and as long as you’re injured I don’t care who you are. Your friend, Leah, told me to tell you that.” The nurse explained. Huh. Frank assumed Claire was speaking the truth about Leah having brought her in. Instinct. Question was why. He’d been in worse shape before. This wasn’t the first time he’d been.. Actually it was.

“The hell happened?” He asked, more himself than Claire.

“I don’t know.” Claire sounded, and looked, tired. And annoyed. He could appreciated a woman that looked good annoyed. “You shouldn’t be alive right now.”

“Got a hard head.” Frank told her. Things were coming back. Shady people, Karen poking at things she should leave well enough alone. He made to get up, he needed to see Karen, make sure she was still out there doing things she shouldn’t be. Claire rushed over and pushed him back down. He let her for a minute.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Claire admonished. “Did you not hear me? You should be dead. Crushed skull, lung punctured in two places, broken femur, multiple lacerations, fifty seven stitches.. Leah and I bled ourselves half dry in direct vein to vein transfusions to keep your heart beating. Which, by the way, are illegal and irresponsible and generally a bad medical practice. I don’t care how enhanced you are, you’re not getting out of this bed until I am absolutely sure you will not fall over dead halfway to the front door. “

Frank took a moment to process this. Sounded serious. Claire looked as if she’s been around a few days at least. He remember flashes of pain and little else.

“Thank you Nurse.” He started, manners were a thing Maria had managed to instill into his very being. “’M not enhanced.” Claire rolled her eyes.

“Buddy, I don’t know how to say this any clearer, but you should be dead. Anyone normal with your injuries would be dead. I have no idea how you even made it from wherever this happened to here. But just by being alive, you are definitely not not-enhanced. Let alone in this good shape.” Claire patted him down with clinical hands and expression of wonder and exasperation. He didn’t feel in good shape.

“Have to go.” Frank tried to explain. “My friend.” (Karen (friend??? ‘You do this and you are dead to me’ stalkee??) “She might be in trouble.”

“If this is about Karen –“ (how did Claire know Karen?) “you’ve been asking about her for days. Leah went to check on her. As of-“ Claire fished a phone out of a pocket. “two hours and 3 minutes ago, everything was fine.” Claire showed him her screen.

 

_Leah: I have had my 5th cup of awful newsroom coffee and everything is still boring. I want to nap and climb the wall at the same time._

_Claire: Aww. [coffee emoticon]_

 

“As a matter of fact, you have a phone of your own that can be used to check up on a number of people.” Claire finished. Frank glared at her and Claire bared her teeth.

“Stay down.” She ordered and sat back down in the plastic folding chair next to the bed. Frank was a man that knew how to pick his battles. He spotted his phone on the nightstand. He called Leah.

“Frank. Kinda in the middle of something.”

 

 


	2. This is my life now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen's life turned weird a while ago, and it's not getting any better.

Karen was annoyed. She seemed to be annoyed  a good deal of the time, lately. She loved her new job at The Bulletin. More than she expected really. She loved the research, the people, the atmosphere, the words. She even loved the fluff pieces. What she didn’t love, and therfore annoyed her, was being threatened, or cussed at or, worst of all, followed.

Karen wasn’t an idiot, she knew both Matt and Frank had a tendency to ‘watch out for her’ from rooftops and dark alleys. She assumed they somehow avoided each other like polarizing magnets, and had more than once entertained herself with the half-hysterical thought about what would happen if they ended up fighting each other like grade-school boys (while she got killed). This additional thought only wormed itself into her head on bad days, though. 

It annoyed her greatly. Of all the sexist, patronizing, sneaky, shitty things to do.. Matt annoyed her more than Frank if she was honest. After he ‘came clean’ so to speak, she told him she needed time. She wasn’t sure where she was at and how she felt about him anymore. Cue the night stalking. Matt was being quite obvious about it; she was sure he intentionally let her catch glimpses of him. If he was still in love with her, months of not respecting her wishes really killed her desires stone dead. 

For the past week, she hadn’t noticed Frank around, and she was worried. Which annoyed her. He was dead to her.  He didn’t matter. She should focus on herself and her own life and be happy she wasn’t being stalked by a murderous lunactic. Her head spoke, and her heart didn’t listen. Que annoyance.

 

\---------------------------------

 

That evening her feet hurt, her story was dead in the water, she was tired and hungry and rained on. Matt had been pushing for a coffee date and bailed at the last minute. All she wanted was to curl up and sleep.  Off course, at 1 am, someone had to knock on her door.

“Matt, I swear!” Karen yanked the door open, ready to rip into her sorta ex, sorta friend.

“Hi.” A young woman who was not Matt smiled and gave her a wave. Karen didn’t know her. She should have taken her gun. The girl didn’t look very dangerous, but in this city, you never knew.

“I’m. Sorry.” Karen stuttered, closing the door a bit. “I was expecting –“

“Matt?” The woman raise a playful eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah. “ Did she know her? She was acting pretty familiar.. “Sorry, who are you?”

“I’m Leah. I just wanted to let you know a friend of mine, Frank. Frank Castle? He asked me to check in on you.” Leah delivered this with a perfectly straight face like she was talking about Bob, you know, Bob from Starbucks. Not a notorious killing vigilante.

“Wha-“ Karen started.

“I thought I’d introduce myself so you don’t get freaked out when you see me around your place and work and such. No worries though, I’ll stay out of your way.” Leah smiled as if this was a normal conversation and gestured with a book she pulled out of a truly hideous bag.  Karen had so many questions. So many. And she was a reporter. Part of her, also known as the sane part, was screaming at her to close the door and call the cops. The reporter part, and maybe the ‘He’s not a psycho killer’ part, disagreed.

“Er, come in.” Karen heard herself say.

“Oh, no bother. I’m happy to read in the hall.” Leah sounded sincere. Was that weird? Ever since coming to New York Karen’s weird-o-meter had been broken, but she was pretty sure this was not normal.

“It’s fine.” Karen argued and stepped out of the doorway. “I can make you coffee.”

“Ok.” Leah stepped in. “I’m a tea person, though.” Leah looked around the apartment, didn’t even stop to take a second look at the bullet holes in the wall before handing Karen a box of tea. “Thank you.”

 

There was an awkward silence as Karen boiled water. Or at least, Karen felt it was awkward, Leah seemed perfectly at home on the couch.

“So uh, how do you know Frank?” Karen asked, putting two mugs on the coffee table.

“He rescued me from a lab where doctors who lost their medical license performed illegal experimentations.” Leah answered. Karen’s mind just blanked. _This is my life now._ Her weird-o-meter may be broken, but this was definitely weird. 

“Wait, seriously?” Karen couldn’t stop herself.

“Yep.” Leah gave her a ‘what can you do?’ shrug. Her expression was open and, Karen had a hard time wrapping her head around it, quite honest. Then Reporter Karen reared her head and she unconsciously reached for a pen or phone to take notes.

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“Nope.” Leah’s expression was still open and honest, but Karen saw something dark flash behind her eyes. Karen stopped her hands and considered. This was the strangest conversation she’d ever had, and she’d recently had one that started with ‘I’m Daredevil’.  She only had this woman’s word on anything. What if she was lying? What if she was working for Fisk somehow? What if Karen had just invited her murderess in for tea? She scrubbed at her face.

“So why isn’t Frank here himself if I need looking after?” It came out a bit sharper than she intended.

“He’s not conscious at the moment.” Leah explained. Karen was surprised at the fear that gripped her stomach.  She was not that close to Frank. She did not care about him. At all.

“Wh-what happened?” Karen had to ask.

“Not too sure to be honest.” Leah winced. “He came back in pretty bad shape and insisted on seeing you. Not that he could properly walk or anything. “ Leah sounded entirely too at ease about this and Karen rose. She was halfway to collecting her purse and coat.

“And you left him? Is he in a hospital? How serious is it? Is he dying?” Karen was collecting her things, her heart pounding, her hands frantic.

“I did leave him, he’s not in a hospital, it’s very serious and he might be dying, but I’m confident he won’t.” Leah took her hands and guided her to sit back down. “I know a medical professional who will help him and not get him thrown in jail. Or leave him at the mercy of a doctor who might think the world is better off without ‘The Punisher’.” Leah made a face, as if she was slightly embarrassed to mention that title. Karen closed her eyes  and tried to calm her breathing.

“Please tell me they’re not a vet.”

“She’s not a vet.” Leah reassuringly patted her hand and handed her the mug of tea. Karen took a deep breath.

“I want to go see him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You may or may not be being watched and..” Leah trailed off. “Look, Claire will update me on Frank’s condition and I swear I will let you know if anything happens.”

“I. Yeah.  Ok.” Karen took a defensive sip of tea. She didn’t  care about him anyway. _This was her life now._

 

_\--------------------------------------------_

 

Karen should probably be worried at how easy she adopted Leah in her life. True to her word, Leah was happy to be sent away, but it felt less awkward to Karen to treat her as some sort of little sister slash weird friend that followed her around. At least she was intelligent, and, after a few halting starts, easy enough to talk to.

It had taken Karen until the morning after their first meeting to remember to ask why Frank would think she needed protection, albeit in the form of non-intimidating Leah. Leah had just shrugged and said she didn’t know. Karen spent a good deal of the time wondering what kind of relationship existed between Frank and Leah. Leah was odd, Frank was a rage-fuelled vigilante. Frank was also unconscious with his skull crushed and Leah was ‘protecting’ Karen against nothing either of them could think of.

They spent several days in an strange and somehow kind of nice symbiosis where Leah helped her do grunt-work research, went on lunch and coffee runs and cooked. Karen was thinking she would keep Leah around for the food alone. It had been a long time since she had a home-made meal and Leah could cook really well. Karen couldn’t cook at all. Weird protection detail aside, Karen thought maybe they could be friends. 

Off course, all good things come to an end and this one ended in a smelly back street with boarded up windows, two what seemed to be armed and dirty hillbillies and the ingredients of a lasagne on the ground. Both Karen and Leah tried to de-escalate. And they were making good headway. Alternatively reasoning and something that may be considered pleading to a man’s better nature, made Karen hopeful of getting out of that ally and home to a salvaged lasagne.

Then a siren rang through and the hillbillies hurried into action. Karen got punched, knocked her head against the brick wall and fought to keep her eyes open and her feet under her. She failed at both. A shot rang out, she smelled blood, heard a horrible gurgling sound, and when her eyes focused, one hillbilly was on the ground bleeding , the other was gone and Leah was on her hands and knees. _Sweet Child of Mine_ rang through the evening and Leah picked up her phone without looking.

“Frank. Kinda in the middle of something. “

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy on the OC. Sorry.


	3. Buckshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank never though his life would turn out this way

“Kinda busy right now.” Frank muttered. Bullshit. Busy.. (Rage and revenge and pain and worry) He wasn’t used to being worried, not anymore. He could go out and find Leah and Karen, but Leah said she was on her way back and not to worry. Ha. Did anyone ever follow that order? It was one of the biggest red flags in life. He paced. Checked his gun. Stretched his aching corpse. 

Claire had left, proclaiming him ‘unlikely to die soon, unless you get shot or something’. He still felt like crap, he looked like crap if the mirror was to be believed, which it generally was. The girls must have been over reacting though, because he didn’t feel close to death. Or recently close to death. Just like shit. Just when he was about to go out the locks tumbled and Frank cocked the gun in his hand. It was Leah, he knew it was Leah, but it was also a reflex. He felt more familiar around guns than anything else.

Leah walked in and he gave her a brief once-over. Scuffed mostly. Ripped Jeans at the knee. Little scrape. Good. Fine. See no use in worrying.  

“How’s Karen?” That was not supposed to be his first question. Leah must have agreed, because she gave him a grumpy look.

 “Ok. Bruised, upset, confused. Apparently there were no active threats against her that she could think of.” Leah shrugged, winced and shuffled over to a salvaged cabinet. Okay. Fine. He could deal with bruised and upset.

 “It was the sausage people.” Frank told her absentmindedly, studying Leah’s very careful movements as she pulled bottle of Bourbon from the cabinet and took a swig.

 “Eh?” Leah wrinkled her nose, presumably at the sausage statement and not the alcohol. She took another swig and grimaced, putting the bottle down to open the buttons on her coat. 

“You okay, kid?” Frank had to ask.

 “Not too bad, I got shot.” Leah winced again as she tried to take off her coat. Took another swig. (fucking SHOCK and rage and revenge and pain) His heart froze for several long moments.

 “What?” He ground out while moving in her direction to help her take off her coat. The fabric showed no sign of damage. The flowy fabric of her shirt was stained through though. He didn’t see any bullet holes.

 “It was the little ones.” Leah explained. Aw, hell.

 “Buckshot.” Frank muttered. He didn’t bother to take off the shirt, simply slicing it away with a Bowie to reveal a starburst pattern of small oozing holes spread across Leah’s back.

 “Sonofabitch.” He hissed.

 “Uhuh.” Leah agreed and gulped some more bourbon.

 “The hell you didn’t go to a hospital?” The moment the words left his mouth he knew why. He didn't go to the hospital either. Funny how it's still always the first thing you think of. Leah didn’t bother to respond.

 “Lemme get some tweezers.” They didn’t have a bathroom, so much as some amateur plumbing shielded off with a thick, broadway-type curtain. The ‘bathroom’ contained a large, metal chest full of medical supplies though. There was no real reason to keep it there, other than tradition. Frank frowned at the state of the chest. Claire must have been rummaging around. A good deal of supplies were missing.

He came back with tweezers and anti-septic to Leah leaning against the counter. For several minutes he tried to pick out buckshot as gently as possible. He didn’t know gentle. He’d pretty much forgotten gentle. He also didn’t know what to say. Thanks? Thanks for looking after the woman I can’t leave well enough alone? Sorry? Sorry you got shot by people threatening the woman I can’t leave alone? He was a fucking mook, he was. Goddamn walking disaster.

“Stop.” Leah suddenly ordered. He did. Her voice was high and yet had a resounding note of command. What? What'd he do? She was panting, short, shallow breaths. Her skin had turned clammy and grey in a matter of seconds. Leah twisted away from him and fled behind the bathroom curtain. It did nothing to muffle the sounds of full blown panic attack. Fuck Fuck Fuck. What did he say? What did he do?

“It’s okay, kid. Just me.” Franks said, a fresh wave of pain hit him as he was reminded of Lisa. Also, if he could kick himself, he would. He’d never been a calming presence. Ever. He did not do panic attacks. Balls. Balls. You’re fine? She was not. Sorry you got experimented on by doctors? Shit, he wished he could shoot someone. He much preferred problems he could shoot. 

“Frank.” Leah dragged in a breath. “Go away.” Yeah, sure. Should he be doing that? He really wanted to not be in this situation, which probably meant he should be staying. “Seriously. Pizza. Or Kebab.” What. The. Hell. “Please Frank.” It was a cross between a plead and an order. She was not in bad shape. The injuries were painful, but the buckshot had only penetrated an inch or so. She was not in any immediate danger.  

“Okay." He agreed (rage and revenge and pain and relief and worry) "Be back in twenty.” He’d be back in fucking twenty and if she was not okay by then he’d get Claire back in here, medical professional or not.

 

 -----------------------------------------------

 

When he got back, he had both Pizza and Kebab with him. Leah was sitting on counter wearing what to Frank looked like a scarf tied around her neck and hips. Her colour was back to golden, her breathing regular and she seemed perfectly composed. He envied that. Frank wasn’t sure he’d managed composed since the day he lost his family.

“Hey.” She greeted him. “You mind, before we eat?” She held out the tweezers to him. Off course he didn’t fucking mind.

“So.. what about the sausage?” Leah asked sounding normal, he face told him 'don't fucking mention it'. Yes Ma'am. He put the food down and picked up teh tweezer again sterilized them. Gave Leah a few second to turn her back to him. Frank supposed she’s had a few, she moved a little differently and didn't tense or wince as much as he dug around for buckshot in smooth skin. He dropped another shard of metal in an empty coffee cup, while collection his thoughts. 

“It’s.” Fuck. “It’s a story Ms. Page wrote. This meat processing plant down in Jersey made these artisan sausages or whatever, turns out they were using meat from a local kill shelter. Cats and dogs and shit.” It hadn’t been breaking news or anything, but Frank kept up with Karen’s stories. (He wasn’t fucking stalking her, okay? He was just interested.)

“Ew! That’s disgusting. And sad.” Leah frowned, seemingly in deep thought. Frank himself had been glad to realize ‘artisan sausages’ had never been part of his diet. “Since when do you read articles about sausage?” (avoidance!)

“Came across it.” Frank picked out a grain of buckshot, lodged in a shoulder muscle.

“You barely eat. You kill people. And search for people to kill. And acquire and maintain weaponry to kill people with. And then pass out from exhaustion. When did you have time to come across a last page article in a mid-range newspaper?” (Avoidance and more misdirection. Seriously, he was not discussing this with the kid.)

 “Was near the can.” He said. Leah said nothing. She said nothing very loudly.

 

 ----------------------------------------------

 

Several hours after their late night dinner, Frank was gearing up for a busy night. He was aching, but nothing that would slow him down. Somewhere out there were two inbred bastards who tried to kill, well, someone. Two someones. That may or may not matter to Frank. Leah came up a tugged on a buckle. For a moment he was reminded of being in a similar position, with Lisa trying to tie his tie for him. Except Leah was an alien and he was going off to kill people. This position was similar at all. Jesus Frank. She was not his kid. He still wouldn't cop to liking her. Nope. Just an acquaintance. 

“Don’t kill him.” Leah said. (rage and revenge, seriously, revenge was his thing). Leah didn’t give him time to respond. “Karen’s asking. I’m saying that because I think her opinion means more to you than revenge. Maybe. Also, she wants to interview him for a story.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Frank started. Who would do that? Why woudl she want that. What the hell? Leah seemed to find this a perfectly logical sentiment though.

“Why just the one?” He asked.

 “Other one’s dead already.” Deflecting, Leah nudged his knee and he sucked in a breath. Ok, so maybe he was hurt more than just a little. “That’s not good." Leah must have an 'avoid!' alarm in her mind as well. "Have you a brace or something?”

 “What do mean, one’s dead?” Frank growled. There was silence, Leah ignored him and poked at his knee some more. “Yeah, there’s a brace in the chest.” Frank relented. (revenge and pain and rage and, fucking women).

 “His buckshot gun had this, what do you call it, opposite force thing, and knocked him back on some building material trash and he impaled himself and died." Leah explained. Her face was turned away as she wrapped up his knee. "He was like seventy years old and a hundred pounds.” Frank thought she sounded upset. Jesus everloving shit.

“It ain’t called a ‘buckshot gun’.” Frank said, for lack of any other sensical statement. He didn’t drink. Never been his thing. But he suddenly saw the appeal.

“How’s she even gonna find this idiot?" Fine, they wouldn't talk about old geezers who accidentally killed themselves while they were trying to kill the people Frank -. Knew. Was acquainted with. "Just walk down a few dark allies hoping he’ll try to kill her again?” That was meant to sound sarcastic, but Frank had never been really good at sarcasm and he wouldn't put it past Karen. Frank didn’t want to talk to her, no really, he didn't, but hey may needed to at least try and make her see some sense.

“No. No. I think he scared himself really. You know, he seemed upset.” Leah explained. Frank’s mind had checked. The Punisher was not having this conversation. “And I’m going to find him. With Karen. And she will interview him and then we’ll have margaritas.” Leah smiled suddenly, with a lot of teeth. Frank gave up. (revenge and rage and pain and, like, seriously done. Women were put on this earth to cause havoc.) 

“Just. How about neither of use does anything tonight?” Regroup. Refocus. Maybe figure out if he’d have a better shot of pounding some sense into Leah or Karen tomorrow.

“Sure." Leah agrees easily. "I’m going to try and sleep and not roll over on my back.”  His heart skipped another beat. (revenge, revenge and rage and pain). He still had fuck all to say to her really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm realizing this is quite light for this fandom.. Oh well.


	4. Good People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen interviews a shitty person and discusses the morality of Frank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anything about New York. I had a look at Google maps, but they don't put handy markers down for like 'shady area' or 'most likely to find villain lair'. So addresses are made up and locations are purposely kept vague.

Two days later Karen is following Leah’s lead along the streets of NYC. As promised, Leah appeared at her work to take her to the man that attacked her. Leah had been completely silent after a text that proclaimed Frank to be ‘fine’ approximately 20 minutes after Leah left Karen on her doorstep. (did Frank live 20 minutes away from her? Really?) Incommunicado until half an hour ago and she appeared at The Bulletin. Apparently half an hour of small talk and a 10 minute discussion over the pros and cons of hot vs. cold coffee drinks, was the maximum amount of time Karen could control herself.

 

“How is Fr- Mr. Castle?” Karen winced at herself. Smooth. Really.

 

“Mr. Castle?” Leah asked on a laugh. Yep, real subtle Karen. “Mr. Castle is fine.” Leah laughed. Her tone was slightly teasing, but it was sometimes hard to judge, Leah had an accent that was all over the place. Karen blushed regardless.

 

“Really?” Really, Karen could smack herself at how relieved she sounded. “You, I mean, him being so close to death and all.” Karen tried to recover.  

 

“Yeah.” Leah confirmed. “Unusually fine, I suppose.” Leah seemed to muse on that and Karen felt something odd move around in the region of her stomach. “Then again, he did get shot in the head at point blank range and walked that off.” Leah finished on a shrug. It didn’t quite stop the feeling Karen had.

 

“Do you think..” Karen started. Once things were said, they couldn’t be unsaid. “You know, he’s enhanced?” Karen asked. Like you, she didn’t ask. There was something different about Leah, and in the week or so Karen got to know her, she figured it was maybe a cause of Special Abilities.

 

“Enhanced what?” Leah wrinkled het nose, Karen couldn’t help but think about spam emails and nearly choke on her Caramel Mocha Frappuccino.  

 

“I mean special.” Karen tried to recover, she did, really. But as the words left her mouth, the heat rose in her cheeks.

 

“I’d certainly consider Frank to be out of the ordinary.” Leah’s tone was even. To be honest, Karen wasn’t all that good at making friends. Really, if it didn’t include a life-threatening situation, it was hard for her to get close to anyone. Karen still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about Leah. She was.. unusual. Polite. Honest. And some qualities Karen found hard to place. Very intelligent and very well spoken, but she seemed to miss certain idioms and expressions. Her accent was American (Brooklyn?) and British (Posh) and something like Italian and Russian. And something else.

 

“Are you deliberately trying to be annoying?” Karen asked before she could stop herself. Leah ducked her head and grinned. She nudged Karen.

 

“Little bit.” Leah’s grin disappeared into her blank face. “Maybe he is enhanced, maybe he’s just very hardy. It’s not something I plan on asking him.”

 

“Hmm.” Karen acknowledged, that was a hint. Should she ignore it and ask Leah? _Are you enhanced? Are you special_? If she asked, Leah would answer.. Karen didn’t ask. 

 

“Here we are.” Leah proclaimed. They’d arrived a police station.

 

“He’s a cop?!” Karen exclaimed. Really? Leah shot her a look.

 

“No, he’s in jail. Not all justice is meted out by angry men in costume.” Leah joked. Karen mulled that over while checking in at the front desk.

 

“What’s he in jail for?” Karen asked.

 

“Public drunkenness, indecent exposure and defacing of government property.” The bored cop answered her. “Dude got drunk and pissed on the Statue of Liberty. No ID and won’t give us his name.” A thought seemed to occur to the desk attendant. And to Karen. “How do you know him? Who is he?” Karen had no idea, Leah was the one that found him. 

 

Karen looked around for Leah, but she had disappeared Daredevil style. “I’m a reporter.” Karen explained with a sigh. 

 

 -------------------------------------------------------

 

Two hours later Karen found Leah outside on the sidewalk reading a book an drinking a smoothie. Karen’s annoyance level was high, she’s expected the interview to be.. different. The man had seemed almost comically overwhelmed in that ally. Not in his element at all. She’d been hoping for a lighter, somewhat funny article on how life can spin out of control. Something inspired by a Stephanie Plum novel. What she got was a filthy, mean, misogynistic moron, who didn’t see anything wrong with what he’d done. Something along the line of ‘Nosy bitches should mind their own business and not fuck with a good deal a man has going on’.

 

She mulled it over in her head. The piece wouldn’t work the way she intended, but she had gotten a few good quotes and she could probably work them around. She wasn;t impressed with Leah’s disappearing act though. She had half a mind to blow off their late lunch and write.

 

“Hey. Get what you wanted?” Leah got up and stuffed her book and the blanked she’s been sitting on in her purse.

 

“No.” Karen said. “He was a dick.” She sighed, she was disappointed. Faith in humanity tanked? “Like, a real shitty human being.”

 

“I find the people that try to murder me generally are.” Leah joked. Karen couldn’t help but laugh. Leah might be a muysterious superpowered individual (like she didnlt have enough of those in her life), but at least she was funny.

 

\-------------------------------------------------- 

 

“What do you think is going to happen to him?” Karen asked later, gesturing with her drink. The place Leah knew was cosy. Fun. It was in Brooklyn and people seemed to know her.

 

“At a guess, the police will run his prints, have some previous crime pop up, charge him and he will spend a few months in jail. It will probably improve his health.” Leah ventured a guess. Then shrugged. “If Frank doesn’t get to him first.” And that was it. The stone in Karen’s stomach.

 

“Yeah.” Karen sighed, downed her Yankee. She’d never been one for margheritas. “And you’re okay with that?” She just has to ask. She assumed Leah must be, apparently living with The Punisher.

 

“I’m not.. not-okay with it.” Leah sipped her drink. She drummed her fingers on the table, seeming a little restless. “Okay. Off the record or whatever, just you and me?” Leah then asked.

 

“Yes.” Karen agreed immediately, curiosity was a job requirement, but also a personal failing for Karen. Leah gave her penetrating stare.

 

“Look, some really bad things happened to me. And the people that did them.” Leah sucked in a breath. “I don’t need then to be hurt or be tortured, or anything. I’ve thought about that, and it doesn’t make me feel any better. But I want, what I need, is for them to never come near me, or anyone else, ever again. I need them to not have a single, one in a billion chance of doing what they did to me again. I don’t want them to influence people with  their thinking, I don’t want them to go to prison and team up with Fisk.. I. I need them gone. Not existing anymore. So.. yeah. I’m okay with what Frank does. Now can we talk about not-me?”

 

“Yeah.” Karen agreed. They should probably teach a class on these kinds of situations. How do you sincerely give your condolence without sounding trite. How do you empathise with someone who gone through something so horrible you can’t even imagine?

 

“What do you think, Karen?” Leah saved her. “You obviously have, an interest shall we say, in Frank. And I don’t think it’s because you want him behind bars.”

 

“No.” Karen said. “Throwing him in jail would be the same as killing him.” Leah nodded in agreement. “But.. it’s hard. To know what I think or feel. Killing people. Willfully, knowingly killing people. I can only consider it a bad thing.”

 

“It is a bad thing.” Leah nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Doesn’t matter who you kill, it’s always wrong.” Leah decided. Karen violently swallowed. James Wesley and the stains spreading over his shirt urged themselves into her mind.

 

“But he’s a good person?” Karen had meant it as a statement, but it came out a question. She couldn’t kid herself into thinking her opinions regarding Frank’s actions had nothing to do with her own actions. She was a murderer. Whether she had committed a crime was debatable, and she knew in her heart that Matt would debate it for her, but morally? She wasn’t sure if she felt guilty. Horrified and traumatized, sure, but guilt? Maybe she felt guilty because she didn’t feel guilty enough.

 

“Yeah, he’s a good person. A good person who does bad things and remains a good person.” Leah smiled and raised her glass.

 

“I think you’re right.” Karen clinked her glass against Leah’s. Finally someone who had a similar view. Not the weird fan-wankers that thought Frank was some sort of Angel of Vengeance, or the people that denounced him as nothing but a psychopath at best and a monster at worst. “To good people.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

Slightly tipsy Karen came home and sat down to write her article. She felt better than she had in a while. Lighter. Vindicated maybe. It had also been a while since she’s a had a, relatively unconcerned, fun, outing. She typed her article in what felt like no time. Maybe the alcohol gave her some sort of perspective, but she flew through. Regardless of the source material, she managed to keep the article relatively light, though it was quite snarky. Write drunk, edit sober. Wasn’t that what they said? But hey. Ellison was her editor and he was, presumably, sober. She hit send. Just when she was debating ordering a pizza, her phone buzzed.

 

_Foggy Nelson: Can you met me at 113 th and 49th?_

_Foggy Nelson: It’s about, you know, Matt._

_Foggy.Nelson: Karen.it’s bad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for any errors in spelling or grammar. I have a tendency to read over them, until I hit the save button. Feel free to let me know if you pot any and I will correct.


	5. Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not helping Frank's mental health at all.

The Punisher did not have a home, or a family, or a routine. He had a safe-house. And a dog. And Leah. And the Punishing Business usually only happened in evenings and nights. And dogs needed walks and Leah deserved a safe place to stay, and really, considering she cooked and cleaned and did his laundry (he’d never realized how hard it was to get blood out of anything until recently), it was no problem to pick up groceries if he wasn’t in too bad a shape.

 

The Safehouse was the top floor of an abandoned warehouse. All the other floors were derelict, graffitied and smelled of piss. The top floor was clean, reinforced and in pristine condition. Completely empty except for two walk-in freezer/fridges, both the size of a New York studio apartment, and a kitchen. Someone had obviously lived or worked here before Frank had broken in with the original idea of lying low for a bit. Then Leah happened and no one had returned to the Safehouse. Frank had changed the locks. It wasn't a bad place. Handy. And whoever had been here before, well, finders keepers.

The fridges made great containment units as well. At least, until he had come home one morning to find a Tupperware in the fridge with a Post-It: _Roast, not zap. 20 min on 200*C_.  and the scum he’d tied up in a chair also had a Post-It sticking to him: _Gross and Unhygienic. Unless you plan on eating him, get him out of my fridge!! H_ e did, there were plenty of places in New York you could detain someone. It was probably bad manners to leave scumbags lying around anyway. 

 

There were big chunks of day where either he or Leah were ‘out’ and even though he often enj- didn’t mind the company of Leah, sometimes she was too much. Too bright, too happy, too alive. Sometimes he resented her with every fibre of his being and even asleep the sounds of her breath would flay him alive. She seemed to register these moods and plan accordingly, making Frank wonder, when he was back to normal, just what kind of life Leah had had before she ended  up in some medical lab. Shitty families were everywhere, but she took the blood and weapons and his demons in stride painfully well for someone so young. As a result of them leading two very differently broken lives, they communicated a lot via Post-it: _This is soaking, do not put in dryer._ _Do not touch! May explode. Please pick up TP. On date, will be back tomorrow. Out_ (Frank always just referred it as ‘out’, just as Leah called her one-nights ‘dates’) _be back Tuesday. Dog has been fed, don’t believe sad eyes._ It worked for them. It wasn't domestic or anything. Anyone who owned as many guns as Frank could not be considered domestic.

 

Still, a man got used to his surroundings. And when he’d come back, with groceries and after he’d walked and fed the dog, he was startled to find the Safehouse very.. quiet. It wasn’t unusual for Leah to spend the night somewhere else, but there was no Post-It. Not that she owed him one. He wasn’t her father. He wasn’t. And certainly not her keeper. She could do whatever she wanted. Still, there was a suspicious lack of Post-Its altogether, now that he thought about it. He'd almost missed the sheet  of paper on the counter. It contained a lot off crossing and blots.

 

_Frank,_

_~~I’m sor~~ ~~Karen~~ ~~I~~_

_~~The docto~~ The people ~~that di~~ that had me. They ~~foun~~ ~~kidnap~~ have Karen. They ~~asked~~ Told me, I have to come to: 113th  & 49th. _

_If not, they will kill Karen. ~~Maybe no~~_

_~~I can’t~~ ~~Mayb~~ I’ll try, but I’m not sure I can._

_~~Pleas~~ _

_~~Fra~~ _

_I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say._

_Leah_

 

He could not describe the feeling that came over  him. (RAGE and rage and revenge and pain, and oh God, was that desperation?) He could not lose her. He could not lose them. How had he ended up in this place again? How? No. No. None of these fuckers was going to live through the night. None.

He didn't remember leaving the Safehouse. Or how he got to 133th & 49th.

 

\------------------------------------------------------

 

The place was not as Frank expected. He had to put away some of the rage. Keep it on leash until he was in. If he didn’t.. Still he’d expected something shady. Factory, warehouse, something. Not a high-end medical facility. It was a shiny, brightly lit tower of glass and they were open. He had no idea on which floor they were. Or even if Leah had gotten the address right, her note was pretty blotchy. (RAGE, KILL, LEAH, KAREN) It took pretty much all of him to keep from simply howling, and his tactical brain was out of commission. In the end, he just walked in the front door, up to the reception.

 “Goodevening, welcome to Medilux. How can I help you?” A woman of undetermined age spoke. She even had the smiley customer tone, but her face was blank.

 “I got an appoint-“ Frank started and the woman interrupted him.

 “And your name please?” The receptionist sounded supremely unconcerned and didn't even glance at him. 

 “Leah.” Frank growled. The woman, Joan apparently, didn’t so much as twitch and tapped while speaking.

 “And your last name? Oh I see, only one Leah this evening. (Had these fuckers actually made an appointment?) Subbasement, room A 431. Let me print you a badge.” Frank was halfway to the elevator by the time she finished speaking.

 The Guards downstairs were a little more interested in him, but they barely had time to get up before they dropped back down again,staining the shiny white hall. Either this place was empty or filled with people of the same disposition as Joan the Receptionist, because he only encountered two guards and no one else. Not even an alarm. Frank walked through the bright, white, sterile halls. The place was creepier than an abandoned warehouse. Too clean, too shiny. He found room A 431 with no issues, following some helpful signs. He could just walk in as the door wasn’t locked. Inside, the walls were lined with glass walled pods containing people like lab animals. His eyes found Karen, an indescribably look on her face and a split lip (Rage and red and rage). His former lawyer, not Red, was also there. And a somewhat  familiar looking blonde woman with a black eye. And a skinny brunette, methodically pounding the glass door on her pod. No Leah. Still, he couldn;t leave them here.  

“Move.” He grunted and motioned to his left, while aiming. The lawyer got a look of horror on his face, backed away with his hands up. As if that was going to help. Moron. Frank squeeze the trigger, but the bullet all but pinged off, a good two feet to the right of the laywer. Well hell. Bullet-proof glass. Not that that would stop him. Fucking bullet-proof glass to make lab-cages for people. Bullet proof glass. Wobbly glass. Wobbly, bendy glass. Fuck. That was why excessive rage wasn’t a good thing. He was in a basement. In a topnotch medical facility. Underground. Moron. He could practically see the gas pump into the room. He dropped like a sack of brick.

 

 ---------------------------------------- 

 

He woke up with a pounding head, but not in one of the pods. He looked around and saw he was strapped to chair in his skivvies. A heavy duty chair, not one of those flimsy plastic ones. Shame. The same people he saw before were still in the pods. The brunette had stopped pounding the glass and was now glaring at it with a naked hatred that Frank didn’t see often. Karen mouthed something at him, or maybe the pods were soundproof, he didn’t catch what he said anyway. He yanked the bonds, but this facility had some top-notch containment gear. He was well and truly stuck. Fuck. One silver line though, Leah was strapped in a second chair, about six feet away from him. She was attached to wires and stared blindly at an empty pod across from her. She was breathing deeply, as if meditating. More like dissociating. A bunch of white-coated assholes were milling about and one man in a suit was droning on.

“Ah, welcome back Mr. Castle.” The man smiled jovially at him when he noticed Frank was back, like politician. Slimy bastard. “ You seem to be in excellent condition, especially considering the recent damages you incurred."

Frank ran his tongue over his teeth.

 “You ran me over.” He realized out loud. 

“Yes, and to what an excellent result!” The Suit jovially exclaimed. Smarmy shitstain. “Back in near perfect condition now, I see.” He patted Frank like child. Or a dog. He was going to lose that hand. Frank looked at Leah. Hey face, her expression, was still blank. Behind her he saw screens. Frank didn’t have much biology in school, but he thought it was close-ups of cells.

“You gave him your blood.” The suit addressed Leah. She did not respond in any way. Frank had seen people break. Some went screaming. Some never made a sound. Some, like Frank, burned up in a violent rage. The Suit raised his hand to gesture to one of the many people on scrubs milling around, discussing the screens. Leah reacted before he could finish. 

“Yes”. She was back. Her tone was even, but there was a dangerous timbre to it. There was something very dark behind her eyes. That Suit should be pissing his pants. And not just because Frank was walking out of here with the only to people on this shit planet that mattered.  

“Why?” The Suit sounded excited.   

“He was dying anyway.” Leah answered, sounding flat. She was looking past the suit, sounded almost absentmindedly. The Suit seemed disappointed. Frank couldn't give a damn what this was all about. Maybe later, but right now all he wanted was clarity of gunshots. The simplicity of death. 

“Yes. Well.” The Suit directed his attention from Leah to his minions. “Run a full initial panel on Ms. Howard and Mr. Castle. Let me know the results.” The Suit then mosied off without a care in the world. That was about to change.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

‘A full initial panel’ apparently meant a 3 inch long, inch deep cut on the left arm, a square inch burn branded next to it and a broken pinky finger. The minions in scrubs aimed cameras at the injuries and tapped blood from near the wound sites every ten minutes. Leah had screamed as her flesh burned and her bone snapped. It had pushed Frank to almost unknown levels of Rage (and revenge. Wrathful. That was the word). All these bastards in this room. They were all dead. He would track them to the ends of the earth and return them to it. One mistake. One inch. Suddenly, he was sure how long, he's been too caught up 

“Frank?” Leah voice was low and the people in the room didn’t seem to care about her speaking at all. Frank wasn’t an amateur, so he didn’t look at her. Just hummed lowly. Focus. Think. Get free.  “If I get your hand loose, can you kill all the people in this room?” Leah asked. Her tone was even, cold and determined. 

“Yeah.” Frank breathed. Not a problem. "One batch. Two batch."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote and re-wrote the lat part a few time. Fight scene? Detailed descriptions of break-out...  
> I decided to end it on an 'oncoming storm' note. 
> 
> Not sure how I'm gonna carry on. We'll (hopefully) see.


End file.
